


Whorl

by Rubynye



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anal Sex, Consent Issues, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Mentor/Protégé, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: His neck softens, his head drooping towards her lips as they brush the whorl of his ear, as she murmurs, “Whatever you want.”
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Whorl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ciexmod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciexmod/gifts).

> Written for the Consent Issues Exchange 2019. The idea grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

They meet on alternate Tuesdays. Evan used to spend Tuesday afternoons playing video games, or sometimes practicing with his powers, or occasionally even working on assignments. But it’s his senior year and he’s not doing a thesis, he got the hang of flight and force last year, and she has so much more to teach him.

He’s almost sure he’s seen her on a mission sometime, maybe on the other side of a fight, but she swears she’s not a villain. “I find dichotomies overly simplistic,” she murmured in his ear the first time he asked, and “Have I ever lied to you?” the last time. Her voice is always low, warm and deep, almost a purr. He’s checked her pupils, her hairline, her fingernails. She looks merely human. She looks slender, ordinarily pretty, almost fragile, powerless. She never lies and her appearance is completely untrue.

She’s the smartest person he’s ever met. Smarter than Dr. Infinito or Midnight Man. She teaches him every alternate Tuesday, so much he wants to know, so much more he needs to know, whether he wants to or not.

Today they’re in a convenience store, browsing the dairy case as she quietly points out details of how to watch the crowd. Soon after the Alliance had recruited him, Evan once asked the Silver Sleuth to teach him about this kind of thing, how to spot criminals ahead of time; he got a long cool look and a gentle scolding about concentrating on stopping them after they did anything. He didn’t ask again. 

He’s never had to ask her. She tells him, she asks him the best kind of questions, she teaches him. “Eight-o-clock,” she murmurs now, and he holds up a bottle of yogurt drink like he’s reading the fine print and glances back over his shoulder.

There’s a girl, kind of short, kind of round, wearing a gray hoodie despite the warm spring weather, eyes downcast, chewing her plump bottom lip. The hoodie’s right pocket looks bulgy. The girl looks soft all over, and nervous, and her tooth looks crooked against her reddened lip, and when he focuses hard he can see sparkling beads of sweat all along her curved hairline. As she glances sideways the girl slides her hand into her bulgy pocket, and pulls it out empty.

Slender warmth along his side confirms Evan’s decision. One arm around his mentor, three zoom-steps, and the girl’s rigid under his other arm as he whizzes up to the ceiling, out the in door, up to the flat tarmac roof, all quicker than a breath. 

He lets go as he lands, his mentor steps gracefully onto the roof, the girl whirls around unsteadily, her mouth open and red and soft, her eyes round and wet and bright. Evan catches the girl by her hoodie and she’s so much shorter than him and she’s staring up at him, hands up, palms out. She’s so, so scared.

He takes a breath. He almost reassures her, but catches his mentor’s glittering eye. She nods just slightly and he takes a deeper breath, filling out his chest, readying himself.

“Who are you?” Gasps the girl.

“A representative of justice,” he says as deep as he can, as firmly as he can. He pulls off her hoodie, shaking it; deodorant and soap and lip gloss tumble out, bouncing accusingly around her feet. She has something in her fist, which he pries from her grip, and it’s a tube of lotion. 

“Please,” the girl whispers, with her plump lips, and Evan looks at her again, at her washed-pale jeans and her thin blue tee, its hem all ragged, and the stretched-out too-small bra struggling to hold up her tits as her chest heaves, as she stares at him with round-eyed fear. “Please, please don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He says, keeping his voice stern.

That breaks the dam, metaphorically. Shining tears run down her cheeks as she starts to babble. “Please don’t turn me in, I can’t get arrested, they’ll kick me out of the group home, I can’t go anywhere, I can’t go to juvie, please, please, sir, I’ll do anything, please!”

_Sir._ He loves it when people call him ‘Sir’. He should tell the girl begging won’t work, but she’s clutching her hands together, her eyes look like full moons, she’s staring at him like he’s powerful, like he controls everything.

His dick is so hard, trapped in his slacks.

He takes a long breath, cooling air filling his lungs, blows it out slowly as the girl mouths “Please,” and glances to his mentor. Her smile is little and proud, her mouth berry-dark with that lipstick she likes. 

“A quandary,” she purrs, and the girl glances to her. He clears his throat and the girl’s stare returns to him. “A desperate young woman can fall to ruin so easily.” Her fingertips brush his wrist, her breath strokes his chin. “A criminal record could destroy her educational prospects, her possible career. Her life. And yet.” As the girl’s mouth moves in silent begging, wet and red and pleading. “Theft is a crime, and must be punished.”

“I’ll do anything,” the girl repeats, as if on cue, and he can feel his mentor’s smile. “Please, Sir, please.”

“Anything,” his mentor echoes. “Consider the possibilities.”

Evan can’t even think, he can only see, the girl’s chest heaving so hard her tits shove up almost out of her bra, sky-blue dots of tears scattered across her faded shirt, shining wet tracks down her round cheeks. He can only feel, his mentor’s fingers around his arm, her breath on her ear, the tube of lotion still clutched in his hand. “What am I supposed to do with her?” he asks, or thinks he asks.

She hums, rich and deep, and his neck softens, his head drooping towards her lips as they brush the whorl of his ear, as she murmurs, “Whatever you want.”

And suddenly he knows. “On your knees,” he commands the girl, who nods and almost falls, catching herself on her hands, her tits squeezed between her arms. From here he can see down her shirt, her creamy cleavage, a few freckles like specks of spice, and he’s so hard it’s almost painful. 

A button, a zip, he lets his tackle out, and the girl flinches back, then pushes herself forward, her eyes flicking between his dick and his face, so wide and shiny, her mouth red and wet as she leans in, parting her lips, the first curls of her warm breath brushing the underside. 

Behind him, beside him, his mentor stands slender and still. The girl’s lips glance over his dickhead, slipping over it, firming up as she pushes her mouth onto his dick, her hands still clutched together in her lap. Her mouth is hot and slick and little crackles of pleasure are fizzing through him already, but she only gets halfway down before she chokes, and she’s still snuffling, she can’t suck hard enough. Not enough. He looks down at her, her eyelids curved over her eyes, her lashes black on her cheekbones, her cleavage about to overflow, her round arms, all her soft curves. He watches her suck his dick, steadily, bobbing, but never getting more than halfway down, and he doesn’t have any condoms in his wallet but he can hear his mentor in his thoughts, _well, how will you handle that?_, can hear her breathing behind him, a little faster than usual. 

_Anything you want._

He applies his speed as he grabs the girl’s waist, pulls her off and around, shucks her jeans and panties down her hips, crushes the lotion open and smears it up and down his aching dick. He pushes himself back to normal speed before he grabs her hips again, bare hot skin, and looks down at her round quivering ass. She’s shaking all over, gasping, pushing up on her hands. If she turns around—

He pushes his dick between her asscheeks and they clutch at it. Both his girls make the same noise several notes apart, low sliding high, as his dick slides up against the crinkled ring of her asshole, unfurling it, in in in.

So tight. So hot. Little ripples stroke his dick as he sinks inside her, her asshole a fluttering ring swallowing him down, down, down to his balls until he bottoms out, feeling her whole body shivering around his dick. Her head hangs down but he can see her lips parted as she gasps, her tightly shut eyes and dripping lashes, the sore red curve of her ear.

He slides his hands forward, meaning to pet her calmingly, but they push up under her shirt and her skin’s so hot, radiantly hot, and so soft, like a pillow. Up and up over her soft sides and heaving ribs and into her bra and her tits are amazing, lush and creamy, overflowing his hands, and he didn’t even feel himself pull back until he pushes in again, didn’t even feel himself squeeze until hot flesh rises between his fingers and she gasps and he can feel her breathing hard, under him, around his dick.

He’s fucking her, squeezing her breasts, lost in all the ways she feels, until he sees movement. His mentor, stepping forward, kneeling in front of the girl, who slumps forward, resting her head in his mentor’s lap. She pets the girl’s wet cheek, her hand pale as a crystal on the girl’s blotchy pink skin, and the girl’s head rocks up and down with his thrusts, and she feels amazing around him, always moving, tight and slick and alive.

He’s gasping too, pushing his speed away, fighting to keep a normal pace, pulling the girl back into his thrusts by his handfuls of sweetly plush tits. His mentor looks up at him, her lips tilted up in her little half-smile, and a groan rips up out of his throat and he barely manages to drag his dick fully out of the girl and come on her back rather than inside her. His mentor gives him both sides of her smile, and he gasps down to the bottom of his lungs, _You can’t be too careful_ echoing in his head.

He looks down, at his spunk on the girl’s red-flushed skin, his handprints purple bruises on her upper thighs, and peels his fingers off her tits, pulls his hands out of her bra. He doesn’t have anything to clean up with, but… a quick tug rips her faded panties free, and he wipes himself off and mops her back clean, rubs his fingers fast enough to set the cheap cloth afire, and tosses it aside to burn to ash. Hissing at his searing touch on his oversensitive dick, he tucks himself away, and after a few more moments pulls the girl’s jeans up and zips them for her, because she still hasn’t moved since he finished. She’s just lying there with her head in his mentor’s lap, crying and crying.

Most of him feels warm and buzzed, but something low in his belly rolls queasily.

“Come on,” his mentor murmurs in her soft encouraging voice, stroking the girl’s cheek. “Come on, my dear. Your punishment’s over. You can get up now. You’ll be good after this, won’t you? You can get up.”

The girl nods, and pushes herself slowly up to hands and knees, but she’s still crying, deep shuddery sobs shaking her till she jiggles all over. She looks good that way, but his mentor’s right, and the weird sick feeling is expanding inside him. Gently, he takes the girl’s shoulders in his hands and pulls her up to her feet, turning her to face him. “Don’t steal,” sounds stupid and hollow coming out of his mouth, but the girl nods, still crying. He hands her her hoodie and she buries her face in it rather than putting it back on.

His mentor lifts her hand, and he takes it and raises her to standing as well. He wants to ask her what to do with the girl now, after all of this, but he knows it’s his problem to solve. So he carries them down to street level, by the back door of the store. No one’s in sight.

The girl still hasn’t stopped crying. He can’t have been that rough? But asking, “Did I hurt you?” will undermine the message, won’t it? Instead he digs out his wallet, pulls out a $20, and presses it into her hand, saying, “Go home, ok? And don’t steal anymore.”

The girl nods, crumpling the money out of sight in her fist, and turns away, and walks across the street, not looking like she’s limping or anything, even though she’s still clutching her hoodie and still sobbing. Watching her go, his belly fills with queasy worry, so much he can’t keep from saying, “I hope she’ll be okay.”

“Sentimentality has no place in crime prevention,” his mentor says, but there’s a laugh in her voice. “She’ll be fine. You’ve kept her from a life of wickedness.”

That should make him feel better, but as he whisks back to the roof to collect the items the girl tried to steal, and trots inside to return them, it really doesn’t.

When he’s dropping them into the restocking bin he remembers the lotion and his face gets hot. His mentor arches an eyebrow at him, then answers his question before he can ask it. “Just get a tube and vibrate it so it looks like two, at checkout.” As he turns to do that, she catches his arm at the bicep, her fingers long and cool on his skin, and leans up to murmur into his ear, “and some condoms as well, that was invigorating.” 

Nodding makes his head spin dizzily, like back when he was learning to fly. He swallows hard over the sick guilty feeling he thought becoming a hero would banish forever, but deeper than that he feels the heat of anticipation, the upcoming afternoon in his mentor’s bed. She lifts her cool steady fingers to his cheek, and the dizziness fades away under her touch until he can push away his lingering thoughts of the crying girl. He lifts his eyes to hers — why was he looking down? — and when she murmurs, “And hurry right back, Astonish-man,” his hero name doesn’t even sound dorky in her low voice. It sounds just right.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Supervillain/Superhero/Civilian


End file.
